


watching & wanting

by ruukutia



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/F, eventually there will be a happy ending, fjord is the best wingman, it's about the pining, spoilers in future chapters will be marked
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25026514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruukutia/pseuds/ruukutia
Summary: Beau's far more observant than people give her credit for.or: five times Fjord has woken Beau up, and one time he thought better of it.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Fjord & Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 12
Kudos: 182





	1. I - on the road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place at a vague point in time after episode 19.

The first time is routine enough. 

It's not long after they've left Zadash, and for safety's sake, decide to take watch shifts - especially after the recent goblin ambush. 

So as the blackness of the night just barely starts to show signs of ebbing, Fjord stifles a yawn, stands from his spot beneath a tree, and makes his way over to where Beau has bedded down. 

He kneels down and nudges her, too distracted by the promise of imminent rest to register that the monk is swinging at him the moment she jolts awake. Fjord bites back a yelp as he barely dodges, growling a harsh whisper, "Beau! Fuck’s sake, it’s just me!”

“Ugh...shit, man. Sorry. I’m not used to the whole...adventure party thing.” She’s groggy, but she shakes it off and stands, offering Fjord a hand up. He accepts it and rises with her. 

“I hear you. Especially not with people this…” he trails off. _Inclined to being assholes_ , is what he wants to say, but truthfully, it’s too soon to really tell.

“Colorful.”

Fjord chuckles. “Yeah. Colorful.”

Beau kicks her staff up into her hand with ease. “Guess it makes sense. We’re either criminals or circus dropouts, so…”

“Wh- Hold on now, I’m not a criminal. I-” 

But Beau isn’t listening to him, he realizes, as he watches her move to sit against the tree and recognizes an expression of deep thought. It’s uncharacteristic of her so far. It’s even more uncharacteristic of what Fjord knows of her as the monk takes out a journal from within her robes and pages through it briefly before stopping with a sigh. 

“...Beau?” he asks, cautiously approaching and kneeling beside her once more.

“Okay, this is a fucking weird question, but...what’s your take on Yasha?”

No, he hadn’t been expecting that.

“Are...are you asking me if she’s my type, or-”

“The _fuck_? No,” she snaps, staring up at him with a look of confusion before returning to her pages, brow still furrowed. “I’m asking what you think of her. Like what her deal is. I mean, the wings...that was new, right?” 

“As far as I know, yeah,” he replies, “Never seen her do that before.”

Beau makes a sound of acknowledgement as she scribbles something down on the page; she writes, squints, hastily crosses something out, continues writing. She does this for a few more moments before the silence is broken again. “...She doesn’t even seem to know what she is, man. Doesn’t remember her past. Can you imagine that, just...going through shit not knowing who you are?”

Fjord doesn’t respond.

“...Anyway. I dunno. I want to get to know her more, but…” the monk sighs, dropping her arms and tipping her head back against the rough bark behind her. “She’s a mystery. Cool as hell, but...a mystery.”

For a minute, her only response is the sound of distant nightlife. She thinks that maybe Fjord dozed off, that he got tired of her rambling bullshit about the enigmatic barbarian. But when she glances at him, she sees his eyes are focused on the dancing flames of the campfire. 

“I think...in time, maybe, she’ll open up,” the half-orc replies, choosing his words carefully, “We’re still strangers. And with the way she comes and goes, maybe it’ll take a while. So if you want to know more about her, just...I don’t know, talk to her. But don’t be fuckin’ weird about it.”

“Oh, c’mon, I’m not gonna be like…’Hey Yasha, those skeleton wings were pretty hot, wanna show me again sometime and talk about it?’ I have a _little_ more tact than that. Usually.” Beau closes her eyes and drops her head forward. “Fuck.”

“Fuck?” he repeats, confused.

“Yeah, fuck, man. I don’t know how to like…” she trails, making a few vague gestures with her hand. “I don’t know how to fucking talk to hot women without being, uh. You know.”

“...Then maybe just watch her? Hell, I don’t know Beau, I’m not exactly an expert in that either.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I can do that. I’m good at that. The monk shit. Patient and observant, that’s...that’s me.” Beau’s expression is one more similar to a grimace than confidence. So Fjord does what he can to reassure her - an awkward hand on her shoulder, intended to bolster her confidence. Her resulting gaze looks more concerned than inspired.

“Uh…”

He withdraws his hand. “I, uh. Just mean to say you can do it. If you really want to try and get to know her more. Yasha seems like a lonely soul and I think it’d do you both good to have a friend.”

Beau’s expression is unreadable - Fjord’s surprised she hasn’t sent him sprawling. But then she snorts, and the faintest hint of a smirk plays on her lips. “Yeah, man. Maybe you’re right. Thanks.”

Fjord gives her a half-smile in return. “Anytime. Now if you don’t mind, it’s ass ‘o clock in the morning, so I’m going to sleep.”

“Sure. And, uh. Thanks. For the talk. Good talk.”

“Yeah. Good talk,” he says, standing back up to retreat back to his bedroll and settling down.

Beau has no issue staying awake that night during her watch. Her mind is filled with questions with no answers, or answers that only lead to more questions. But maybe Fjord has the right idea - maybe two lonely souls could find friendship. Maybe it’s not what she really wanted at first, but she can’t deny that Yasha genuinely intrigues her. She tells herself it’s because the other woman is a mystery, and Beau loves nothing more than to find answers, especially when it comes to people. Yasha is a puzzle and Beau is just curious.

Beau doesn’t realize that she’s lying to herself when her watch comes to an end and there’s a portrait of Yasha sketched beside hastily scrawled notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to my girlfriend for proofreading this for me, since i type and refuse to perceive anything i write down!


	2. II - long may he reign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> takes place shortly after episode 26.

The second time is for her own good.

Mollymauk was dead.  
They’d found Yasha, Fjord, and Jester.  
Yasha left.

Even with the others back, things didn’t feel whole. _They_ didn’t feel whole.  
And that’s stupid, right? They barely knew each other, really. Barely knew who they were beyond assholes bound together by chance. 

Beau’s mind is stuck on Yasha. 

The talk they had, only nights ago, about her homeland. Of Xhorhas, of the place she said she would always have a connection to, even after leaving. Beau understood that, of course - not that it was something she would have talked about then, but despite everything, she understood. Kamordah was a shithole, filled with miserable people and bad memories.  
But it was her hometown, something she’d always have a connection to, no matter how far she roamed. 

She thinks that maybe this is the case for them, too. For the Mighty Nein. 

No matter how far they drift, no matter who leaves and who stays, they’ll always have that connection. This bond she doesn’t have a name for yet (or is too afraid to give a name to yet), that will inevitably leave them tangled in each others’ threads, for better or worse.

And she doesn’t pray - because that’s not who Beau _is_ , she doesn’t rely on a god for results, she makes them happen with her own hands - but she does hope that despite her absences, Yasha’s thread is just as tangled with theirs. Maybe in time she’ll find her way back. Maybe she won’t. As much as Beau hates to admit it, she’s a little bit afraid of what might happen if the barbarian doesn’t return. There’s a fragility beneath Yasha’s surface that she’s seen, a softness and loneliness that resonates with Beau in a way she doesn’t quite understand. It’s comforting to talk to Yasha, she’s found. There’s something about her that makes the monk want to open up, to talk about things she’s kept to herself for years. 

She doesn’t necessarily _dislike_ talking to the rest of their motley group, but Yasha...she’s drawn to something in the other woman. Something about her that calls to Beau, something that she wants to _know_. 

It’s a new feeling. It’s confusing.

Yet at the same time, she can’t blame Yasha if she doesn’t come back. They’d failed, after all. Failed to keep one of their own alive. Failed to keep the one closest to Yasha alive.

Beau’s not sure if she’ll ever forget the sight of Mollymauk falling in front of her.  
How she’d tried to stop Lorenzo’s strike and failed. 

There was a certain sick irony in the fact that it all happened as the two of them had started to get along, in their own way. It reminded her of why she had kept people at arm’s length for so long. The work she did - the things she involved herself with, as a member of the Cobalt Soul - it was _dangerous_. But the Nein had a way of seeming invincible together. Molly, especially, with his nonchalance about crawling out of a grave once before, never seemed to be bothered by the brushes with death they had.

It hurt in a way she couldn’t describe to have that notion shattered.

These are the thoughts she falls asleep with; thoughts of blood and tears, of rage and sorrow, life and loss.  
Thoughts of Yasha.

Her dreams must reflect this, since she’s awoken some time later by a few rough shakes accompanied by the rough whisper of her name. She’s too disoriented and, honestly, exhausted to react to the sudden jolt, so her only response is a pained grumble. 

“Beau, c’mon, you good?”  
Ah. It’s Fjord. 

“Nngh...fuck. Yeah. Yeah, I’m...sure. I’m good.” She’s too tired to put effort behind the lie. Beau glances around - it’s late at this tiny little inn they found, and no one else seems to really be awake. Had she fallen asleep at their table? How much did she have to drink? She doesn’t remember. Doesn’t want to remember. She’s too good at it.

The half-orc frowns at her. “...Right.”  
He doesn’t buy it. Beau curses herself silently. 

“Look,” he says, running a hand through his hair and wincing when his shoulder rotates just a little too far, just another reminder for her of her friends’ imprisonment, “It’s been a long...long couple of days for a lot of us. You should go rest in an actual bed.”

Beau barks out a short, humorless laugh. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to fall asleep again, man.”

He’s silent for a moment and she wonders what he’s thinking. What he thinks of her; what he thinks of all of them now. 

“Yeah. I get it. I think the only way I’m gonna sleep tonight is when I just...can’t stay awake anymore.”

The monk’s mouth is pressed into a hard, flat line. 

“...But...listen. I can’t honestly speak for everyone else, but...I don’t blame you. Or anyone. For what happened. It was just...it was bad luck,” he sighs. “It isn’t your fault.”

Part of her is angry that Fjord always seems to be able to read her so well. She thought she was better at hiding herself than this. Then again, she doesn’t feel herself right now, and doesn’t know if she truly ever will again. 

“Hard not to feel like it. I was _right there_ , Fjord. Right fucking there. And I couldn’t…” Beau trails off, looks down. “I couldn’t do _anything_. Just like how I couldn’t do anything to fucking stop you guys from getting taken.”

Fjord’s expression softens, which is strange for her to see. “Yeah. I understand. I felt pretty fuckin’ useless too, getting kidnapped like that. And we weren’t even there when...when Molly died.”

Beau offers silence in response. The half-orc studies her for a few moments. 

“Hey, remember a while back - back when we all first started out together, after the circus - you asked me what I thought about Yasha. What her deal was.”

She glances up at Fjord. 

“I guess I still don’t really know what her deal is. But I can tell you...she really saved our asses back there. Back in the cells,” he says, sitting in the chair beside Beau. “Those guys were assholes, and they did what they could to break us. But Yasha…”

He lets out a long breath, shifting to lean back in the chair and looking up at the ceiling. 

“Yasha...provoked them. Made them focus their abuse on her so they would leave me ‘n Jester alone.” His head drops back down. “They were awful, Beau. Used all kinds of torture on us. But she wouldn’t relent. Every time one of them would come down...she had some comment or shit ready. Hell, there were a couple of times they beat her so bad I thought they’d killed her.”

Beau feels dangerous tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. _Fuck._ So instead, she channels it into anger that finds its way into her words as her fists clench below the table. “Fjord. Why the fuck are you telling me this? This isn’t going to make me feel better, it-”

“No. Listen,” he cuts her off, eyes now trained on her. “She fought for us. That’s what I’m tryin’ to say. She protected us. You asked what I thought her deal was, and the best answer I can give is that she’s complicated. But she cares. Cares about us, all of us, in her own way. I’m sure you...know what that’s like.”

The anger leaves her and instead there’s an ache in her chest. “Yeah,” she says, quietly, “Yeah. I do.”

He looks away, nodding slowly. “...Thought you might.”

An unknown amount of time passes between them as they remain in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Lost in the memory of what had come to pass and the helplessness they’d both felt in those moments of weakness. 

Beau breaks the quiet first. 

“...Thanks, Fjord.”  
She doesn’t look at him.

“Yeah. Of course. And if... _when_ Yasha comes back, we might need to protect her. In our own way. Physically...I’m sure she doesn’t need our help there, but…some scars are harder to heal.” He lets out another deep breath. “I think...more than anything, she might need someone to help with those other wounds. Someone to talk to.”

Beau turns to stare at him, incredulous. “And you...think that person is _me?_ ”

“Yeah. I do.”

The monk turns it over in her mind. She thinks back again to their conversation about home, about connections. About grass and all the other new things they’d experienced on their journey together so far. And Beau realizes, for the first time, that she wants to hear more of Yasha’s experiences. The things she likes. The things she hates. What makes her sad and what makes her smile. 

For the first time, she realizes that it’s not because she wants to write another detail about their group down in her journal and analyze it for hours later when everyone else is asleep. 

No, she realizes that it’s simply because she wants to know who Yasha is. 

It’s a realization that’s equal parts terrifying and exciting. 

Beau’s expression cracks into the slightest smirk. “Maybe.”

“You got this.” Fjord’s hand is on her shoulder again, but instead of awkward, it’s strong and assuring. 

The half-smile turns into a small grin, though only barely. “Thanks, man. And...it’s good to have you back.”

“Good to be back,” he responds, a grin of his own mirroring hers. 

Neither stay up much longer; after some idle discussion of their next move, Beau insists he goes to rest, and when she finally lays down in the slightly lumpy bed, sleep takes her quickly. 

She dreams of a storm, quietly rolling in around her, and it brings her a strange sense of comfort that she doesn’t quite understand.

When she wakes, she decides that it reminds her of Yasha somehow, and she smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to get tested for covid today. wear your masks or I Will Find You.


	3. king's cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> occurs immediately after episode 69.

The third time doesn't feel like waking up.

Everything had happened so fast.  
The Laughing Hand, Obann...Yasha. 

_Yasha._

Fighting her. Running from her. Abandoning her. 

Even now, sitting on the floor of the room in Bazzoxan, Beau can’t stop thinking about how horribly wrong everything had gone. There hadn’t been a plan to fall back on simply because they hadn’t expected it to go that fucking badly. 

And the thing that hurt her the most?

It wasn’t the physical injuries, or the fact that Yasha had turned on them. It wasn’t that they had just potentially just unleashed literal Hell on their world and had no idea how to stop it. 

It was that some of them - some of the Nein, some of their family - actually considered that Yasha was an enemy from the start. Her fists clench. How could they even think that, even for a second? After what they’d gone through, suffered together, triumphed over together? How was it so easy for them to consider that as an answer and start formulating plans on how to kill Obann and his followers, Yasha included?

Beau only realizes she’s hit the floor with a solid punch when the bandages around her bicep start to turn to a dull red. But she doesn’t care about reopened wounds; the only thing on her mind is where to start looking for answers. Anything on the Laughing Hand or Obann. Maybe even talk to Caleb or the clerics about arcane wards, or... _anything_. Anything that would help in finding their end goal and getting Yasha back.

Her exhaustion must have been stronger than she thought, because the next thing she knows, there’s a familiar half-orc shaking her awake yet again. 

This time, though, she doesn’t greet him.  
_We don't know her at all. What if that's who she was the whole time?_  
Beau bristles silently. 

“You’re, uh. You’re bleeding.”

“I know. It’s fine,” she snaps. And it’s not a lie - she hasn’t really felt the sting of her injuries. Nothing hurt quite like the loss of Yasha to some unreachable demon. 

Fjord doesn’t respond immediately, instead studying the surly monk on the floor. 

“You’re not just bleedin’ on the outside, are you?” It’s quiet; less of a question and more of a statement, so Beau does what she does best when it comes to matters of her heart: deflect.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He looks taken slightly aback - whatever response Fjord might have been expecting, it wasn’t something so harsh. And maybe even she didn’t mean it to come out like a dagger thrown, but she’s tired and hurting. The proud monk is more of a cornered animal than anything right now, ready to lash out at anyone that tries to prod at her wounds.

“I mean...out of all of us, you were probably the one closest to her.”  
Because she was the only one that really tried.  
“And, y’know, all of that was very unexpected. We didn’t know she was gonna...do that.”  
Because even Yasha didn’t know she was going to do that.  
“So...I know it hurts. To feel her betray you like that, it’s...it’s never easy when it’s someone you know.”  
Won’t even say her name.

There’s a low thundering in her ears that she doesn’t realize is drowning out the rest of Fjord’s words until she feels the contact of his hand on her shoulder, a gesture that had been encouraging and reassuring in the past, but right now it feels fake and condescending. Beau wastes no time in roughly smacking his arm away with her own.

“ _Don’t._ ”  
It’s a growl, a warning; one that he doesn’t heed.

“What the hell, Beau? I’m just tryin’ to help, everyone else has been too…” he trails off. She can’t imagine what he might say next - busy? Drained? Scared? It didn’t matter. 

“I don’t really give a _damn_ about anyone else right now, man,” her voice comes out rough and low. “I know we’re hurt. I know we need to recover. But I’m fucking _terrified_ for Yasha. She’s alone. And she’s not in control.”

“Well...yeah. That’s why we have to figure out a way to stop her, maybe get the Bright Queen involved, or-”

“And what?” she snaps, eyes rising to meet Fjord’s with a fire burning fiercely behind the blue. “Send an army after her? It’s not even her pulling the strings, Fjord, it’s that bastard Obann.”

His brows furrow. “How can you really be so sure, though? I mean, she claimed she couldn’t remember anything else about her past, but she clearly knew Obann. And not just that, he knew _her_. Knew her as ‘Orphan Maker’. You really think that’s a coincidence?”

Beau feels her hands ball into fists again. She wants to strike out at her friend so badly; she wants to hit something and fight it so she doesn’t have to think about all the other things she’s feeling right now. 

“Coincidence or not, that _wasn’t_ Yasha. Not...not our Yasha,” the monk says through gritted teeth, pulling up every ounce of patience and self control her training has given her. 

“But again, how can we know for sure? We barely knew anything else about her, she-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Beau explodes. 

“Because **I** fucking know, Fjord. Because I took the advice of some fucking asshole so many months ago to get to know her and sure, maybe at first it was because I wanted to sleep with her, but she’s my fucking friend,” she snarls. Her body is tense, every muscle singing in soreness and anger. “I learned about her, about her past and her heartbreak and _all sorts of shit_ no one ever bothered to listen to. Even then, you don’t have to listen to figure her out - she’s fucking lonely in a way that’s different than all of us. The way she stays up late, how she’s always the last one to fall asleep, and how she looks like she’s always lost in thought. You don’t always have to _talk_ to someone to learn, but I listened anyway. She’s told me about her life in Xhorhas. Her late wife. She told me about things she hopes for, what she likes, and I-”

Beau doesn’t realize there’s tears until she feels one hit her bare arm.  
Fjord, to his credit, is wide-eyed and in stunned silence. The monk drops her head, shifts her gaze to the floor.

“...I’ve seen her, Fjord. I’ve seen her a lot.”  
The words are an echo, though they have the same weight of emotion behind them. The weight crashes into her like a wave, and it’s not what she actually wants to say - but that particular feeling is one she hasn’t admitted as a truth to herself yet.  
“So I trust her. I know that...whatever that was, whatever Obann did to her, I know that’s not her. And I don’t give a damn if that’s how no one else feels. I’m going to find a way to help her,” Beau says, eyes rising to meet Fjord’s in a challenging defiance. “I want to make sure she can keep enjoying grass and shit, that she can bring her wife the flowers she’s been collecting for so long.”

The half-orc takes a breath, seemingly to process the tirade he was just on the receiving end of. Beau’s always liked that about him - as wild and impulsively stupid their group had a tendency to be, Fjord was the most likely to consider a plan or other options.  
Right now, it might be the only thing between him and her fist. 

“Alright. Let’s...let’s say that’s true. And I’m not saying you’re wrong, just so we’re clear - you just...you obviously _do_ know her better than the rest of us,” he says, slowly, choosing his words with care. “How do you know for sure we can get her back?”

Beau snorts. “Are you asking for Yasha’s sake, or are you asking in case Uk'otoa does the same shit to you?”

He hesitates for a moment too long. 

Yasha has been the main focus of her silent attention, but that’s not to say she hasn't done her share of observing the rest of them. She’s seen how increasingly anxious Fjord has been - the way he wakes from dreams still, shaken and sweating, how he’ll summon his falchion and stare at it before dissipating it and returning to a fitful rest.  
But just like the rest of them, he won’t admit how scared he is of his past catching up to him. Beau imagines Yasha’s departure at the hands of another entity has shaken him far more than he lets on, because it’s so easy to let the _what ifs_ pile up and drag you down. She’s fought those same feelings down before. So many times it would have been easier to just run, but now…

They’re a family now, for better or worse, and she’s not about to help them fall apart. 

“It’s because I know I - _we_ \- wouldn’t give up until we can get her back. Because she’s our friend, and she’s saved our asses so many times. We owe her that much.”

“...What if it comes down to killing her, Beau? What then?” he asks. The concern painted on his face is genuine, but she’s still not sure if he’s asking in truths or hypotheticals. If he’s asking about himself or Yasha.

It immediately makes her bristle again. 

“Then we didn’t _do_ enough. We didn’t look at every option. There’s so much...she has so much she has to do still. That we all have to do together,” she says. Conviction is laced in every word. “That shouldn’t even fucking be a consideration on the table. And that’s not just for her, that goes for...for any of us. Would you really be okay watching any one of us just...walking away from all of this?”

“No,” he replies after a few moments of contemplation. “No...I wouldn’t.”

“So there’s your answer.” A hint of daring to challenge her still remains in her voice.

Fjord deflates, and for a breath, Beau almost feels bad. She doesn’t know if the others are missing Yasha’s presence as sorely as she is, but it still didn’t give them the right to just pretend their bonds didn’t exist. To try and find the easiest way out of the mess they were in. The thought of that just rekindles her fire. 

“...I’m glad you took my advice back then, Beau.” It’s soft, almost sheepish.

“Why?”

“Because I think we’d all be a lot worse off without you. I know you pretend you don’t care, but...it’s pretty obvious right now that you do. A whole lot. And not just about Yasha, but about...you know. All of us,” he says, not meeting her eyes. “So...yeah. We’ll figure something out. Together, for her.”

The faintest smirk crosses Beau’s face before it vanishes again. “Yeah. Together.”

“So, uh. I’ll leave you to it, then.” He gives her a tired, half-hearted smile. “And...get some rest soon. It’ll be a pain in the ass if you bleed out and I have to find another first mate.”

It earns him a short but genuine chuckle. “Aye, Captain.”

He retreats back downstairs to where the rest of their party is, and Beau knows that rest won’t come to her easily that night. Not when there’s a million thoughts running through her head, not when she needs to start making a list of what she needs to look up in the Archives. She does, at the very least, change her bloodied bandages. There’s the faintest thought that _man,_ she would really love Yasha’s healing hands just about now, but she pushes it back as far as she can for the time being. As nice of a thought it is, it’s just a distraction right now. They need to get Yasha back first if she ever wants to feel the warm comfort those hands bring.

So Beau pulls out her journal and begins her work, comforted by the distant thunder that tells her she is not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my test came back negative but i would like to repeat: wear your masks! 
> 
> also, thank you for all the kind comments, i don't always have the mental energy to respond but they are always appreciated.


	4. night watch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place during 103. warning for brief mention of suicide.

The fourth time is for something she doesn’t care about.

Beau doesn’t really process what he’s trying to say - something about the Wildmother again? - before she grumpily sits up. 

“Fjord, if you fucking wake me up _one more time_ to talk about the Wildmother, we’re training twice as hard in this hell swamp in the morning.”

“Okay, but- wait, what? You’re not serious, are you?” There’s real fear in his voice.

“You wanna test me?”

There's a brief pause, almost as if the half-orc is considering his chances. But then he cracks. "No...no, I'm good, thanks."

She snorts. "Thought so."

Against her better judgment, Beau's eyes immediately go to Yasha - she had watched the woman silently fall asleep to the memory of her wife on the dome's wall, and now she sits there, awake and still lost in whatever memory it sparked for her. Something tightens in Beau's chest, but she doesn't have a name for that feeling either. It's not a feeling she likes. The monk sits up; any notion of sleep has left her, despite the brevity of her rest so far. She goes through her own mental checklist - so far she hasn't struggled to remember anything, but maybe that's also due to the shortened nature of her sleep so far. Maybe it has to do with dawn breaking. She doesn't know yet, hasn't figured it out, and it unsettled her more than she'd like to admit. 

And for all that she usually realizes, for all that she usually keeps herself guarded, Fjord catches her staring at the barbarian. He clears his throat, looks between the two women, and addresses Beau, "Hey, uh, you know, if you don't mind - Beau, Yasha (and it's only the call of her name that makes her look slightly over her shoulder to them) - you can take the next watch? It's...about time, I think. And you're both already awake, so..."

Shit.

"That's fine," Yasha says, though it's quiet. She looks back at the memory one last time before shifting her weight and sitting up. 

Shit. _Shit._

Beau doesn't know if she's ready for this. 

Fjord gives Yasha a small smile before he scoots to a free spot in the dome and settles down. 

And then she and Yasha are sitting up alone.

Alone, for the first time in...months. It feels like forever ago that they had their last conversation without any interruptions. And Yasha keeps _looking_ at her, with something hidden in her eyes, and Beau's not sure if it's a question or something else entirely, and it's the _something else_ that scares her more. She curses her nervousness and swallows it down, carefully getting up from her spot and making sure not to step on anyone as she picks her way over to the barbarian. There is surprise in her eyes - had she not expected Beau to want to come closer? Especially after the events of the day (and the thought of Yasha's arms around her, carrying her, causes the _slightest_ bit of heat to creep to her cheeks), she kind of _wanted_ to be near the other woman.

More than kind of. 

Beau kicks herself mentally, because once again, without fail, something about Yasha makes her run in without a plan. 

"Is, uh. This cool?" Beauregard Lionett, the picture of eloquence. 

Yasha blinks at her once before processing what the monk is saying. "Yeah," she says, moving over slightly to give Beau room to sit, "Yeah, it's...that's cool."

Beau gives her a little grin in return and plops down beside her. The addition of another person to their hut makes their space even smaller and their knees brush together, and Beau's not sure what to do about it without sitting ridiculously, so she lets it happen. Yasha doesn't move away. If anything, she shifts so their contact is maintained - but Beau is sure she's just imagining that. It's so slight, so subtle, it can't mean anything. Right? Something like that _can't_ mean anything. 

"How...how are you feeling?" Yasha's soft tone breaks the monk free from her rapid thoughts, pulling her back to reality. 

"Huh?" A masterful display of intelligence. "Oh, uh. I'm...great. Feel fine. The bugs in my face kinda sucked but it's fine."

She earns a quiet laugh from her companion, but it doesn't last long before Yasha's face falls again. "That's good. No issues since the...whatever we fought? You feel okay, no…" she trails off, searching for the right words. "No lasting effects?" 

Ah. 

"Yeah, Yash. I'm okay. The rest has helped. And, uh. You know. The carrying was...nice. Helped a lot. And your hands thing, that was nice too. Thanks," Beau manages as she stumbles through her thoughts. "Thanks for...all that."

She watches a visible wave of relief flow over Yasha, and is once again struck by how much the other woman _feels_ without a word. Her body language often speaks for her, be it anger or sorrow, happiness or excitement - and Beau isn't sure when exactly she became so attuned to Yasha's tells. But she is, and she finds herself being swept up in the wave too. There's a warmth and security in it, in letting herself go with Yasha. 

"Takes more than that to keep me down, you know," she jokes, and immediately she regrets it as she watches the barbarian's eyes snap to her, then fall to the sand, unfocused. 

"...Right. That's…" she struggles for words, struggles to approach this subject they have been dancing around since her return. The smile on Yasha's face is heartbreaking. "I suppose I would know."

"Yasha, don't. It's okay. It's-" 

"Is it?" she interrupts, and Beau hates the haunted expression that has taken hold on her barbarian. There are a thousand apologies there, a thousand pleas for forgiveness. "Beau, I..."

Yasha looks away. Looks towards the illusion of her past. "...When I sleep, sometimes, I...jolt awake in a panic. The memory of, you know, my sword piercing your chest is...still too fresh and far too real. Even in dreams. Even there I can't stop myself from hurting you."

Her eyes come back to Beau. "I'm afraid, Beau. Afraid of hurting you again, of...being your death sentence too."

She stiffens when the words first leave Yasha's lips. She is still breathing, and none of it - _none of it_ \- had been Yasha's fault. 

"...It wasn't you." 

Her words are quiet, and she's as still as she can be. "I... look, I know you think it's your fault, but it's not. I know you. I know none of that shit would have happened without Obann. And we made sure that he can't do anything like that again."

Something in her wants to reach out and touch Yasha. She's hurting. No, the monk realizes, she hasn't _stopped_ hurting, not since the cold steel had ripped through Beau's chest. And for all her efforts - the pit fight, the harp - nothing seems to have taken the edge off. She needed this, and Beau hadn't picked up on it. She'd brushed it off on the ship because Jester was there. She should have found Yasha again, should have reassured her. _Fuck._

Yasha remains still. She laughs, low and quiet, and there's an undeniable sadness in it. "It still happened. It was still by my hand. It would have been...you would have been the third one." 

Beau feels her blood run cold. 

"Obann or not. I still don't know what I would've done if...I had killed you. I gave Zuala her death sentence when she married me. Molly...he died trying to save me. But...you, it would've been by my own hand. For so long, all I wanted was...I wanted to see you again. Every time we stopped at some big...temple or, I don't know, shrine, wherever the hell he was taking us, I hoped you and the Nein would be there to stop us. To stop me," she says, and Beau watches tears beginning to run down her face. "I feel like I have...kept all of this in for so long, and I...I am happy you have not run from me yet. But I am _terrified_ it will be the death of you."

It's like watching a dam crack; it's slow at first, but now that it has started, everything is coming forth. Beau is about to speak, but the flood breaks through first.

"Beau, I...I don't sleep at night very much, anymore. When I close my eyes, I just...I see you there, on the other end of my sword. Dying. And I'm helpless. And I..." Yasha trails off, seeming to grapple with vocalizing something she hasn't spoken to anyone of yet. Another tell Beau has picked up on, in these moments shared between just the two of them. "...In that moment, in my head, when I watched myself do that, I...if it had killed you, and if I ever got free, I would have ended my own life."

Beau feels as if the breath has been knocked from her lungs. She had no idea that had ever crossed Yasha's mind, and it shakes her to her core; she scrambles to collect her thoughts. 

How many times had she already told Yasha that she doesn't blame her? And what would it take for that to be enough for Yasha to believe her? Words aren't her strong suit, at least not in situations like this. When emotions come into play, she can't carefully craft the conversation to be reassuring or comforting or...even really get her point across. 

So what can she even say? Reassurances that she doesn't blame her aren't working. Reassurances that she's still alive don't get through. Yasha knows Beau blames herself more for Molly's death than any of the people who had gotten kidnapped that day, and Yasha knows that Beau thinks she's a survivor for living on after her tribe decided their lives were forfeit, not a murderer. 

So what can she do?

"...Do you want me to hate you?" The tone is flat, cautious, when she speaks again. "Because I...I can't hate you. I won't fucking hate you. None of us will. And hating yourself isn't the answer either. I think you know that even if I had gone down, we'd all want you to live. They could get me back up, one way or another, even if it took a while. Trust me, I'd be more than fucking willing to come back." 

Her hand reaches to where one of Yasha's rests (and she ignores the slight tremble of her own extremity), taking it and placing it right over the jagged scar on her chest. Yasha's eyes snap to it, then up to meet Beau's determined blue. She doesn't drop her hand from the barbarian's. 

"You could have stabbed me again and again and again and I'd still be fucking willing to come back for you, if that's what it took to save you. I'm going to need you to be willing to look at where you are now - where _we_ are now - and ask yourself if you really think it looks like I'd be _that_ willing to walk away from any of this over something like a rat-bastard, motherfucker of an asshole deciding he got to choose your life for you. I trust you, Yasha, and I'm not afraid."

The response seems to break something in Yasha. She doesn't try to stop the tears that run down her face, doesn't move her hand from where Beau placed it. 

"I didn't...I thought that might be the case, but I just...I think I just needed to...you know. To hear it. From you. All of that, I..." she takes in a shaky breath, and Beau is once again very aware of how she is the only one that has ever seen her this vulnerable and raw. "I'm sorry. I am getting there. In accepting...myself. And that I am worth all the good you - all of you - have brought me." 

Beau feels it before her brain processes it happening: a familiar strong arm wrapping around her, pulling her close, all the while never dropping the contact against her chest. The scent of Yasha all around her makes her eyes flutter closed, and she already knows that this will be unspoken tomorrow, that she'll probably deflect harder than usual, keeping a distance up - because right now she isn't sure if this is what they want, but _gods,_ she lets herself enjoy it in this moment. It strikes Beau like lightning then, how much she would enjoy this being a regular thing between them. The contact. The closeness. The feeling of safety in a storm. 

“...I know it’s not easy. I’m not gonna tell you that you have to be all good with everything - with yourself - right now. But if you can at least believe that we - that I believe in you... Shit, I’ll take it."

Yasha breathes out, squeezes Beau closer for a moment, and releases her - letting her hand drop away without letting go of the monk's hand. "I am...I am getting there. Knowing that you believe in me and...that you don't intend to run, it helps," she says, the words coming out quietly. "And, um. Thank you." 

The way Yasha is gazing at her sends her reeling. Heat erupts across her cheeks and Beau feels _butterflies_ , of all fucking things, but she chuckles, low and light. "Hey, the least I can do to thank you for taking care of me when my ass got dropped is to tell you how much you matter to me. There's a reason I asked _you_ for help. I kinda figured you needed the...reassurance, after everything, and that it would be enough to clear your conscience. I'm sorry I didn't realize you needed more than that sooner." 

And because she is Beau, she can't resist adding: "But I gotta say, getting to sleep in your arms was pretty fucking great too."

Yasha laughs, and Beau grins at how genuine it sounds. She wants to make Yasha laugh more, she thinks. She wants to see the way her eyes light up in happiness more. She wants to see _more_ , even if it's not laughter. She wants to watch the way Yasha bears her soul when she plays that harp, that spark of _something special_ that Beau has sensed all along. 

It dawns on Beau, suddenly, that she has a name for the thing - _things_ \- she's been feeling whenever Yasha's around. It hits her like a suckerpunch and leaves her feeling dazed. 

It's love. 

She's in love, and she has no fucking idea what to do about it. 

Okay. She'll think about it later. Maybe panic a bit. Punch something (maybe Fjord?) and figure it out. Because for the first time in a very long time, she _wants_ to figure it out. She wants to follow this and see where it goes. Every time she thinks she’s figured out the _something special_ about Yasha, she finds something new. It’s exhilarating. 

But for now, Beau returns her focus to the beautiful barbarian beside her. 

"It...um. As long as you are okay with it, Beau, I...I don't mind doing that. For you,” Yasha states awkwardly, and the shy smile she gives Beau sends a new wave of giddiness through her. It’s so...adolescent, almost embarrassingly so, but the freedom she feels in her revelation outweighs the embarrassment. The monk also realizes far too late that she’s giving Yasha an absolutely _dopey_ smile in return.

And for once, in the safety of this dome, surrounded by memories of those they love, Beau doesn’t care about what anyone else might think. She knows she can truly be herself in Yasha’s presence, fears be damned. The warmth of their joined hands simultaneously anchors and makes her feel so incredibly free (and _gods_ does the sensation of the other woman’s thumb gently running across the ridges of her knuckles feel amazing). 

“That would be...pretty dope, Yash,” Beau says, the grin not once faltering. She chooses to ignore the blush she can feel heating her cheeks. “I can see why those arms are worth a lot.”

Yasha laughs once more, the soft sound quickly becoming the monk’s favorite melody. “Yes, well...for you, I think, I can give a discount. For, you know, a...returning customer.”

Beau’s eyebrows raise. “Am I really a customer if I haven’t paid before?”

“You have paid me in other ways. Ones that are...far more important to me than a few pieces of gold.”

“Like what?” 

“...Being here. With me. And not…” her eyes flick away, ever so briefly, to the memory on the wall. “You never stopped believing in me.” The sincerity in Yasha’s voice hits Beau in a way that she can’t quite put into words. It’s a dull ache, almost a...yearning? But for what, she doesn’t know. Perhaps that will come to her in time too.

For a moment, Beau isn’t sure what to do. So she lets instinct take over, gives control up just enough to move another step forward (there is something alarmingly intriguing about giving up control around Yasha, but that is _also_ something she will think about later). Her hand comes up to touch the other woman’s cheek, and almost instantly, she feels Yasha lean into the contact. It occurs to Beau that she is probably _wildly_ touch starved; another observation that is noted and stored for the future.

“Hey,” Beau says, making sure to hold eye contact while her smile shifts to something more reassuring, “I’m not going anywhere. And I’m sure as hell not going to stop believing in you.”

“I wish I could tell you how much that means to me, Beau.” It’s low and soft, like a gentle roll of distant thunder. 

“You don’t have to tell me, Yasha. I-” ...No. Not yet. Not quite yet. “I...care about you a lot, so. Uh.”

As she attempts to find coherent words that _don’t_ involve blurting out something romantic like ‘I think I’m kind of seriously in love with you and don’t know what to do about it’, Beau feels Yasha move ever so slightly and watches as the other woman turns her head and places a gentle kiss on the monk’s wrist. 

“I know.”

Beau swears she can feel a smirk against her wrist when she takes in a sharp breath at the sensation.

A chill runs up her spine, providing a stark contrast to the heat settling firmly in her cheeks. She takes some comfort in the fact that there’s an equally conspicuous blush mirrored on her companion’s face. The contact only lingers for a moment more, and Beau lets her hand drop back to her own lap in astonished silence. She hadn’t expected that at all. 

Yasha, for her part, looks equally shy, though there is a sense of pride radiating from her.

“Cool. Dope.” Fuck. “That’s...yeah. Um.”

Damn that soft smirk and slight cock of the head. Something about it makes it so hard to think.

“You alright, Beau?” There’s even a teasing lilt to her question. She’s doomed.

“What? Yeah! Yeah, I’m good. Great. Hey, uh...” Beau pauses, trying to think of _any_ direction to steer this conversation where she isn’t tripping over every other word. She lands on one thing and prays it doesn’t undo everything that just occurred. “...Can you...tell me about her?”

Yasha’s gaze follows Beau’s gesture, landing on the shimmering illusion of Zuala and herself. The monk watches several emotions flicker across Yasha’s face before she looks back to her - and while the barbarian is no longer smirking, there is still a fondness in her eyes. 

“She was very courageous. A strong fighter and formidable warrior. And I...I will never forget her. She is always with me still, in some ways, and...you know, it was very hard before. It still is, sometimes, but...I think she would want me to move forward. To explore the world and just...live. And...to love,” Yasha says, and Beau can feel the reverence in every word. The depth of the barbarian’s love is truly impressive, for her to carry all of this and _still_ care as much as she does for the Nein.

“I’d like to pay my respects whenever we...make our way in that direction,” Beau replies. “If that’s okay with you, I mean. She seemed like a really amazing woman.”

“Yes, she was,” comes the quiet response, “And I...I think you two would have gotten along. I think she’d like to meet you.”

“Then I’d be happy to.”

Beau is fully aware they are talking about meeting Zuala’s grave, yet it’s no less important to her. Maybe it was stupid, but she wants to thank the deceased woman - thank her for giving Yasha the strength to carry on during her bouts of solitude, for continuing to be a driving force in her life and pushing her towards a better future. Even if that future isn’t with Beau - hell, even if that future isn’t even with the Nein, she wants Yasha to be happy on whatever path she takes. And it’s clear as day that Zuala has kept her steady during the harshest times. 

The rest of their watch passes quietly, with Yasha sharing more stories of her past love with Beau, painting a better picture for the monk of who this woman was. The two share quiet laughs and comforts, consciously choosing to keep their hands joined right up until the moment Beau reluctantly rises and nudges Caleb awake with her staff. 

He doesn’t say anything as Beau settles down in the cramped hut, the back of her body pressing into Yasha’s side as she makes the woman’s arm her pillow, and sleep quickly takes them both. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to write this some time ago but then 102 knocked me unconscious for a week and a half! 
> 
> big thank you to my girlfriend for her help in writing out the talk that these two desperately need - her character analysis of beau is always amazing and we very frequently end up spending an hour or more discussing the nuances of these lesbians.
> 
> and thank you all again for the kind comments and kudos! it is very much appreciated.


End file.
